Screwing me with his suit on
by mercurial2010
Summary: Stendan (clearly). Does exactly what it says on the tin. Filthy, filthy PWP. Very, very M. One shot.


_**A/N:** I actually began to write this as part of a chapter for my new fic, but apparently the boys liked the concept, Ste finally persuading Brendan, and they sort of got carried away and evolved into something in it's own right._

_Not 100% sure about timing, so put wherever you think is right – maybe around December 2010, before date night – definitely during the time Warren worked in the club and before "head nudge"._

_**Warnings:** Ahem too many to list, and I don't wanna give away the sweets before you've had your dinner. Is it enough to say rough, graphic sex?! If you don't like then don't read, if you do like please leave a review – they make me smile :D_

"Steven, you really shouldn't be wearing that shirt y'know," he says barely looking up from the paperwork in front of him.

I hunch my shoulders sassily. It's just him and me in his office. It changes the dynamics a bit when the boss is fucking you and doesn't stop looking at you like he wants to fuck you on loop.

"Well spotted, boss," I say, and he looks up at me – amused.

"Where's your work shirt?"

"In the wash… it got rather _dirty_ last night."

Instantaneously his eyes are hard crystal as he remembers exactly how my shirt got dirty, end of shift, collecting bottles in the cellar.

A smile cracks his face. Fuck – he's so incredibly sexy when he smiles like that. It bursts my veins alive.

"And until about half an hour ago it was my day off today," I add for point.

"Do you think that's a good enough excuse?"

"Do _you_?"

He gives me this serious expression, brow crumbled, lips lodged together, trying to look all authoritarian - it doesn't help his case that his eyes are dark and smokey and painting all these lewd suggestions. He kinda just comes across as "I want to fuck your brains out" dominant.

"You don't seem to be taking this very seriously, Steven."

He runs the pen across his lips, absentmindedly, thoughtfully… _fuck_, lust pumps to my cock again. It kinda feels like I'm walking around with a permanent hard on these days.

"Sorry _boss_," I loosen my tongue around the title and he looks like he'd quite happily _pounce_ on me. "Maybe you should _make_ me?"

The question even fails to bring colour to my cheeks – I don't know what's happened to me!

He sits back in the chair slowly, his legs curling out from underneath him, stretching them on the desk. He's wearing that grey suit – you know, _that_ one. Wool soft and tailor made - that shapes around his arse like fucking silk over a trophy. Customary white shirt, which in this light looks almost transparent, and thick black tie. He looks sexy, stylish, fascinating.

He tilts his head as a slow smile spreads against his lips, into his eyes. Lazily chewing gum.

"Lock the door."

As I return his eyes are glazed, exploring every inch of me. That pen is between his lips, his tongue curling lasciviously around the paper safe. His eyes linger against my shirt, before locking on mine.

"Take it off."

I beam. Literally - I feel every cell in my body beam and my hands rush to comply with his orders.

"Slowly!" He insists, "put on a show for me."

Fuck.

I've not done this since I was 14 and even then I was proper stoned, probably looked like a right melon. And this is Brendan Brady, he's probably had a hundred guys do exactly the same thing. Better looking guys I shouldn't imagine. What exactly have I got to offer him? Skinny, scrawny limbs and a complete lack of anything that could be defined as experience.

"Steven," he says my name like I'm interesting, like I'm something. And his eyes are glued to me like I'm the only man on the planet, like he thinks I'm stunning.

I almost feel myself flourish under him, and slide my t-shirt up above my head, my stomach muscles knotted tightly.

I no longer question whether I should feel sexy, just the way he's looking at me reverberating through every sense. His lips part and God I'm dying to kiss him, to feel his mouth on me. He's such a fucking amazing kisser, mouth wide, tongue strong, heat and desperation.

He smiles triumphantly as the offending fabric whispers to the floor, already forgotten.

"Come here, bend over the desk - trousers off."

I comply. Bend my arse to the door, my arms folded over the wooden ledge. He moves slowly around the desk. The moment I feel his hands on my body, pulling my hips forward, I buck into him, already so desperate for him.

Soothingly, he runs a hand through my hair, pushing my head down into my arms. I feel something cold and smooth slip beneath the waistband of my boxers and flip my head to look – fuck it's that pen. My cock is impossibly hard already.

"These might get in the way don't you think?" He asks.

I rush to expose myself of the insulting fabric.

"FuckThatArse," he breathes quickly, like an expletive and the darkness of his voice coils around me.

"That's kinda what I was hoping for!"

"All in good time Steven. First, tell me how we should make you take this misdemeanour of yours seriously?" He asks and I feel the palm of his hand sting against the flesh of my arse.

"You were so sassy," _slap_, "Like it didn't bother you at all that you turned up for your shift wearing the wrong shirt." _Slapslap_.

I'm panting now, my hard cock writhing in front of me, as I wait for each sting of his hand. These sensations are so new they burst through my mind like fragmented splinters - fracturing my reality.

"OK?" He asks, and there's a note of true concern in his voice, as his hand stops over the stinging flesh, his fingers tending the mark. "Do you like this?"

Instinctively I moan and my hips buck backward for more.

"Fuck," he curses as he brings his hand down once again.

I know I'm fucking whimpering, like a slut, but I never knew anyone could own my mind as much as Brendan does right now. His hand continues, and lights spark behind my eyes. I feel like I'm on the brink, on the edge of pain and something beautiful. And then his hands are stopped, are paused on my inner thighs, pushing my stance wider.

His mouth runs against the sting, his tongue tending to the skin, his moustache prickles against me, making me bite my tongue. With my legs wider his hands travel all over my body, across my thighs, my hips, my stomach, my chest, my back, my arse, my balls, so I know his touch in every inch. His mouth still tending to his branding. He moans against my skin as he finds my cock, already hard and wet and waiting for him. And he presses a thumb against the precum, spreading it down over my length.

My eyes pop as I see the pen slide from the desk and the next moment feel something hard and small pressed against my arse. He slides the pen around my hole and I bite down on my arm needing to scream in the face of the pleasure he's giving me. He slips the pen inside and my mind breaks.

"Fuck me," I hear my words like there a million miles away.

"What?"

"Please just fuck me, now, I can't take anymore."

"Just stay there, just stay exactly like that," he requests breathlessly as I feel him move up and away from me.

I allow my head to lift a little to follow his movement around the room, but the room spins, and my forehead collapses back down into my arms. I am so trapped in this lust. I raise my eyes to see him digging in the desk to find the condoms and the lube I know are in there from before. His dark eyes lift to mine, and there's this unbelievably amazing smile on his face.

"Fuck Steven, if you had any idea how hot you looked right now," he whispers and there's a tightness in his voice that skitters over me, pulls my moan. "You're positively debauched."

My eyes trail him down, he's still in his suit and miraculously it still looks pristine, each woollen strand in place over his perfect body. His flies are undone, his boxers poking out against the weight underneath. His eyes are big waxy pupils, his lips damp. But that is all there is to talk of our last moments in here. He could go out into the club now, stand behind the bar and serve punters, leave me waiting for him until closing time…actually that doesn't sound like a bad idea, maybe next time.

"Someday you're going to have to tell me all those wicked thoughts," he beams like he reads my mind.

He leans across the desk to place a kiss on my forehead. I can barely move, so I use all I can to press into him, my eyes drooping as I treasure the sweetness of his embrace.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" He asks, as I watch him return to his position behind me. There's concern in his voice because he knows this is still new, because he remembers the few other times I've been breached by a man as well as I do.

"Please."

He takes his time, using each lube covered finger slowly, gently, so the moment he pushes into me I open entirely for him. His balls brush up against my arse, and I moan as he stays deep inside me. His fingers caress my hair.

"You're so tight Steven," He breathes, as he starts his thrusts slowly deeply inside me. "Still so new. You have no idea how hot it is that I'm the only one who's seen you like this, known you like this. You make me so _greedy_."

He gets carried away in his words and shifts a little faster than before and I moan against the invasion.

"Sorry," he says slowing his pace.

"No, no please I want it like that, I've been fucking wired all day, I want you to take me hard."

His exhale is audible.

"Jesus Christ Steven are you sure?... You have to be sure."

"I can't take all this slow," I moan, and feel his laugh, sweet, joyous.

He lays over me, so I can feel the warmth of his body over my own. Feel the dip of each perfect muscle, moulding around me.

His mouth latches to my ear, pulling the lobe with his teeth, "you could have said that before."

His hands slip over my arms, his fingers over my own. His movements are soft, gentle, like he's caressing my skin. And then in one swift movement he yanks my arms out straight, his fingers curving mine into the metal ledge.

"Hold on," he breathes hot in my ear, before pulling away, shifting inside me.

His fingers nip into my hips as he slides out of me, almost all the way out, and then slams back into me, tight and hard and fast. And I feel my vision burst because he's hit my prostate, but before I can get used to it I feel him slipping out of me again just to slam straight in, deep in, hitting my prostate like perfection.

And I realise why he's made my arms stretch out across the desk because his thrusts are moving it, each slide inside me causing a slide of the desk. And some still-lucid part of my brain wonders if it's possible for people to hear this downstairs, and then I realise how loud I'm moaning and I start to panic, until he shifts inside me again and my mind explodes because he's moaning just as loud and I've not known him like this before, and I wish I could fucking _see_ him because he would look amazing. I know his eyes when he is lost.

And it continues, unrelentingly.

Drag, slam, drag, slam, drag... slam!

And fuck he is moaning so beautifully.

And he hits my prostate every time.

And then there's no need for me to touch myself, or for him to touch me because I'm coming, just from the movement of him inside me. Great tremors release from the pit of my gut, and overtake my whole body, and somewhere in the distance I hear his voice,

"Yes, Steven."

Like he's giving me permission to enter this abyss, to drown in this ocean as he strips me slowly apart from the inside, and I come so hard. My seed splatters against my stomach against his desk, and I know the next time I see him in here, or see Warren in here all I will be able to think of is this, and how fucking incredible it is to be fucked by Brendan Brady.

And then I realise he's still inside me, fucking me, shorter strokes, riding out my waves, and almost instantly I become hard again, and he pushes against my chest, puling me up into him, holding me firm against him. And his other hand wraps around my cock, his fingers soft against the hard tingling skin.

"With me this time," he says his voice a tight warning, pushing me further into the twilight of our sex, and I actually think there's a chance that my mind might shatter this time.

A long drawn out whimper emits from my lips and I really don't feel ready to come again. But his hand is still playing with me, stroking over me, tracing lazy patterns in my skin that will endure long after this is over.

And his perfect body is still moving in mine, around mine, over mine until it's not, and it's really just shifting, just arching and bending, and he's rolling my name through his teeth, over and over until it's just one long moan, and he's coming. And then I am too, and I watch my seed burst again all over his hand.

Weightless I sink to the floor, and he pulls me to him, between his thighs. I collapse so his torso is the only thing holding me up, his arms wrapped over my hips.

"Fuck," I say.

"Fuck," he agrees, pressing breathy open mouthed kisses against my cheek, my chin, my nose, my neck.

"You don't seriously expect me to work, after that, right?"

"If I had my way I'd take you home and never let you leave my bed."

"Sounds good," I murmur although it comes out more like one word, because sleeps closing in now and my every muscle is relaxed and heavy.

"You can't fall asleep here," he whispers into my ear.

"Why not?"

"For one thing, you'll get cold."

"Not here, you're warm," I smile up at him, pressing my face into his neck, as his back tilts up against the desk leg.

And I feel him grin against my ear. And he pulls me tighter towards him, embracing me with all he has. His legs brush up against my naked thighs as his very un-naked knees arch over me. He pulls the suit jacket over me, so we're both wrapped in it, and there's one thought I have before I fall asleep in his arms - _Brendan Brady has just fucked me with his suit on._


End file.
